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“Vic…” My voice cracks with the pain I feel for her. “You can’t be strong all the time. No one can. That’s why you find people to love you… To care for you. When you falter, we’re there to catch you… To lift you up. I didn’t do anything that you or Conor wouldn’t have done for me.”

Her expression sours, and her brows furrow. I know she wants to argue that she should’ve been the one to take care of me. But she’s wrong…

“You’re human, Vic. You hurt like the rest of us. I can’t fault you for that. I wouldneverfault you for that.” My thoughts pour out of me uncontrollably, like I can’t hold them back. “You’ve been building me up from my lowest for years. The least I could do was give you a few days of the same when you needed it most.”

I feel like I’m saying things I should’ve said earlier. Things that Conor shouldn’t have been the only one to speak up about. “Seeing you at your lowest changes nothing for me,” I exhale. My eyes lock onto hers from across the room as I slowly lower to my knees.

She’s struggling with my admission; it’s written across her face. She needs to know that it’s okay not to lead all the time. Sometimes, it’s okay to let go, let us in, and let us help.

“I’m still yours,” I whisper, my voice steady but full of emotion as I kneel for her. “You’re still my Madame. That hasn’t changed. I’d crawl across this city on my hands and knees if you told me to.” It’s the truth. I’d do anything she asked of me. But in this moment—as I stare up at her from the floor—I’m silently praying that she asks. That she takes this opportunity I’m giving her to find herself.To find us.

She stares back at me in silence, and for a second, I think she might not get what I’m offering. I’m about to push myself from the floor when her expressions shift and I catch a familiar glimmer in her dark, chestnut eyes.

“What about across the room?” she asks, her tone slightly hesitant but growing in strength with every word, giving mea glimpse of my Madame.She’s accepting my challenge… My invitation.

I hold her gaze, not willing to break this connection between us. Not now. Not when she’s finding herself again. “Is that what my Madame wants?” I teasingly brat.

Her back straightens, and she suddenly towers over me from across the room. She’s radiating that gorgeous natural poise of hers. A messy bun and Conor’s ratty T-shirt does nothing to hide her suddenly commanding presence. She moves closer, a subtle grace in her steps, as she makes her way to the center of the living room.

My Madame…She’s fucking radiant.Standing before me is a woman who knows what she wants. And what she wants right now… is me.

Statuesque, she curls her finger, inviting me toward her. “Crawl to me, sweet girl.” Her words are soft, but they hit me with a force that rattles me to my core. My heart races in anticipation as I drop onto all fours. Not once breaking eye contact, I take my time, slowly and deliberately, crawling to close the distance between us. I can feel the heat of her gaze on me—the power of her presence—and for the first time in days, everything feels right with us.

Reaching her, I stare up her body as she beams down at me with pride. “I’ve missed you, sweet girl.”

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

CONOR

The wind slams the door behind me as I walk into the club. It smells different from usual—the lingering chemical scent of a hospital.Fuck, how much blood did I lose in here?Even with the strange aroma, it’s comforting here.Like a second home.Walking toward the bar, I run my hand over my short hair.

It’s probably way too fucking early, but I bark, “Double Jameson on the rocks.” I don’t look up to meet either Declan or Tristan’s faces, I need the drink. The burn of whiskey running down my throat will give me something to focus on other than… well, everything that may or may not be happening in Victoria’s apartment.

Declan slides the glass across the bar to me. “I’d argue, but fuck… You almost died. Have the whole fucking bottle.” He places the half-full bottle beside my glass and leans against the bar.

I stare at the whiskey in my hand, the thought of downing a whole bottle before noon not exactly seeming like a bad idea. I could forget about the chaos bomb I dropped this morning.

“A whole bottle at 9 a.m.? Living with the loves of your life not going that well?” Tristan smirks, entering the room with an air of sarcasm.

I take a long sip, relishing in the burn running into my chest. “I left them to work through some shit,” I mutter, my eyes focused on the bar top. “After I stirred the pot.”

Tristan arches a brow and slides onto the barstool beside me. “So, it’s safe to they’re either fucking each other’s brains out or killing each other,” he teases, his lips curling into that damn cocky half-smile.

Shaking my head, I let out a deep, heavy sigh. “Exactly.”

Declan chuckles, leaning over the bar and grabbing the bottle. Uncapping it with a quick twist of his wrist, he pours himself a shot. “Well, at least you have an alibi. Or, if you want to go the other route, you know a few guys that can help clean that up for you.”

I laugh, somehow finding his dark humor comforting. The rattling from my lungs hurts like a son of a bitch, and I grasp at the wounds on my side. I throw back the remaining whiskey and lean against the bar, muttering—mostly to myself—“Fuck… I hope they’re making up.”

“What do you want, Conor? Seriously?” Declan asks, quickly refilling my glass as I stare into the amber liquid swirling into the ice.

“I want them to work it out,” I answer, the knot in my chest tightening. Only, I don’t knowwhatthey’re working out. I don’t know why Victoria has been pushing Elena away. Fuck… for all I know, it’s me. They were happy together for years before I came into the picture.

Fuck… what if itisme?

I love them both far too much to walk away. But I need them both. I don’t think I could pick between them with a gun to head. They’ve both taken an equal hold in my heart.

Tristan turns on his stool and plants his hand on my shoulder. “Here’s the thing, Con. You’ve got two women who, for some ungodly reason, both want to be with you?—”

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